


No Agenda

by Synnerxx



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Dark, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-31 16:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synnerxx/pseuds/Synnerxx
Summary: Misha and Richard have just returned from their friends' wedding reception. A rejected marriage proposal later, both are upset with one another. Their problems soon worsen when three people in masks start to terrorize them after a woman shows up at their door twice, asking for a person who isn't there. After being brutalized, forced to watch their friend being killed, and left for dead, can Jared and Jensen save Misha and Richard or is it all over for them?





	No Agenda

**Author's Note:**

> based off the movie "the strangers". art for the fic is [here](http://apieceofcake.livejournal.com/414847.html).

The silence is suffocating. The red of the streetlight floods the car and highlights the tears still falling slowly down Richard's face. He knows he let Misha down. The disappointment is thick in the air, sitting heavy and metallic on his tongue, a bitter taste. The light changes to green and Misha shuffles in the seat, driving away from the light. His knuckles are white from clenching the steering wheel so tightly. Richard wants to reach out and stroke the soft skin, but he can't. He's not even sure if he's allowed right now or if he ever will be again. 

The rest of the ride is thankfully short because the silence is really grating on Richard's nerves and sanity, but for the life of him, he has no idea what to say. What do you say to the person whose heart you just crushed? He stops the car by the mail box and slides out, taking the keys with him. He wrenches open the mail box and snatches the envelopes inside, flicking through them as he storms up the front walk. Richard lights a cigarette, a nasty habit that Misha hates, and takes a puff slowly, nerves somewhat soothed by the familiar rush of nicotine. 

Richard gets out of the car, following Misha more sedately up the path to the house. He finishes the cigarette and drops it on the front porch, stepping on it to make sure it's out. Misha is in the dining room and Richard feels even worse when he gets in there because he sees the effort Misha put into the romantic setting. There's a bucket on the table filled with ice and champagne, candles on either side of it. Rose petals trail from the front door to the dining room and from there to the bedroom. 

Misha digs the spoon into the container of vanilla ice cream and shoves the heaping scoop into his mouth. He ignores Richard as he heads into the bedroom, tugging off his suit jacket and undoing his tie. Jared and Jensen's wedding had been beautiful and he is happy for his friends, but the crushing guilt and sadness overtake the happiness at seeing his friends so in love for a moment and Richard has to wipe at his eyes, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. 

_He's sitting at a table with Sebastian, Mark and Matt. They're laughing and telling jokes, sharing stories about their lives. Richard glances to his left as he takes a sip of champagne and sees Misha heading his way, determination in his steps. Richard smiles at him briefly before turning back to the conversation at hand. He grins at Misha as he kneels beside his chair. Misha kisses his cheek, smiling at Matt as Richard laughs at something they said. Misha only catches the end of it, something about Mark shoving Matt into the pool naked or something._

_He kisses Richard's cheek again to catch his attention.”Babe, let's go outside.”_

_Richard takes the last sip of champagne and glances over at Mark, who shoos him out with Misha. Richard grins and takes Misha's hand, pulling him to his feet, chuckling when Misha's arm curls around his waist. He leans into Misha's side, basking in the warmth that Misha exudes. Misha's grip tightens briefly, before they're outside the reception hall, the cold air tugging at their hair and clothing, stinging their noses and eyes._

_“It's cold out tonight,” Richard states, looking out at the parking lot, seeking out their car automatically._

_“Yeah, odd for Texas,” Misha agrees, hands sliding into his pockets. He strokes his fingers over the velvet box hidden away inside his pocket, butterflies chasing each other around in his belly. He's sure he's never felt like this before. He's too hot, too cold, too everything. He reaches up and pulls at his tie; the wretched thing has been strangling him all evening. Richard notices his fidgeting and grasps his hand, lacing their fingers together and lowering them away from Misha's tie. The bright blue silk settles against the white of Misha's dress shirt with an almost irritated twitch. Misha attempts to glare down at the evil thing before Richard catches his gaze and smiles fondly at him and Misha can't help but grin like a little boy back at his lover._

_“Why did you want to come out here?” Richard asks, head tilting to the left._

_Misha's mouth is dry all of a sudden, the breath knocked out of him, and he can't form a coherent thought at all. His body has totally shut down on him and it takes a moment for him to reboot the system. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, the cold air recharging him somewhat. He sees the concern in Richard's honey-colored eyes as he gets down on one knee, the black box held loosely in his fingers. He holds it up to Richard, unlacing their fingers so he can open the box, revealing the ring inside. “Richard, will you marry me?”_

_Richard's hand is pressed to his mouth and he's staring at the ring. Misha can't read his emotions in his eyes for the first time and he knows with a sinking, gut-wrenching feeling that he's made a mistake. Richard's eyes meet his and then he knows for sure. The regret shining in them is unmistakable. He snaps the box shut and gets to his feet, turning on his heel, walking back inside the warmth of the hall. He ignores Richard when he calls out for him, his voice hoarse and strained._

Richard continues stripping, toeing off his shoes and socks, sliding his slacks down his legs and stepping out of them, shrugging out of his shirt, the tie in a puddle of green silk on the bed. Clad in only his black boxers, he pushes open the door to the bathroom, making a conscious effort to avoid the mirror. He doesn't want to face his reflection right now. He knows what he will find in his eyes and he doesn't want to see, doesn't want to see the face that broke Misha's heart as absurd as that sounds since it's him. He did it, he broke his lover's heart and there's not a damn thing he can do to fix it. Well, that's not strictly true. He could fix it, but every time he thinks about it, his throat gets clogged with all the words he wants to say, but isn't able. Marriage terrifies him. It's irrational and he hates himself for it, but it's there all the same.

He leans into the shower stall, turning the water on and adjusting the temperature until it's as hot as he can stand it. He hooks his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his boxers and pushes them down, kicking them off behind the door.

He steps into the shower, sighing in relief as the water soothes him after the long day of being on his feet most of the time. He lets go of everything, the aches and pains of his body, the sorrow and regret that weighs down his soul, all of it. He'll pick it back up once he gets out of the shower, but for now, he allows the hot water to rinse it all away, carrying it down the drain. He scrubs away the dirt from the day, letting it end and readying himself for a new day. He washes his hair and then works the conditioner into it, letting it sit for a few minutes then rinsing it out.

He stays under the water a little longer than usual, not wanting to get out and face Misha. Yes, he knows that's a cowardly thing to think, but he's not ready to be brave yet. He closes his eyes and tilts his chin up, letting the water run down his face for a second. He reaches out and slides his hand along the slick wall of the shower, blindly aiming for the faucet handles. He finds them, counting them out and turning the middle one once he's sure of it. The shower switches to the bath faucet and he turns the other two handles at the same time, eyes still closed. The sudden silence is almost deafening when the water stops running.

He stretches out one leg carefully, meeting the rug with his bare foot, wary of slipping and falling. He squints his eyes open, blinking water out of them. The drops catch in his eyelashes, making everything blur slightly. He gets out of the bathtub and opens the cabinet, taking out his favorite fluffy towel. He presses it to his face first, and then gives his hair a rough rub down before wrapping it around his hips. He walks back into the bedroom, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt after he dries himself off.

 

Misha is still sitting at the kitchen table when he walks back in, but he's on his cell phone now. Richard pauses behind him, listening to Misha. He's eavesdropping and that's a bit fucked up, but he can't help himself. He needs to know what Misha isn't telling him. 

“Hey, it's me. I'm at the house now and well, things didn't go so well. Can you come pick me up whenever you get this? I know it's a lot to ask, but please? I know it sucks coming out here, but I just need to get out, but I don't want to take the car. Thanks. Bye.” Misha hangs up with a sigh. He stirs the half eaten melted ice cream around in the container before shoving it away from him. He picks up the champagne bottle and pours himself a glass.

Richard shuffles in hesitantly, taking a seat on Misha's right. He wordlessly takes the bottle after Misha sits it down and swigs directly from it. Misha smiles thinly over the rim of his glass, but says nothing, even though he hates it when Richard drinks out of any carton instead of pouring it into a cup. Richard doesn't meet his eyes, staring down at the glossy surface of the dining table. He knows Misha hates it when he does that. He's not sure if he's trying to pick a pointless fight or what.

Misha puts the ring box on the table and pushes it over to Richard. “Take it. I can't return it and I don't want it, so take it. Please.” There's a note of desperation in his voice, but Richard can only stare at the innocent little box in a mix of guilt and fear. He can't move, can't look away, can't say anything. He hears Misha sigh and begin to tap more buttons on his phone, but he can't tear his eyes away from the box. The box scares him more than anything at that moment. Why are all his fears irrational, he doesn't know.

It amazes Richard that something so small could have shattered his relationship and left him unable to pick up the pieces, but there you go. He doesn't understand why he said nothing when Misha asked him to marry him. He loves this man more than anything and anyone in the world, but the second he saw the box, he froze. Everything just stopped and he watched Misha crumble and was completely helpless to stop it. He glares at the box, hating it and fearing it and a small part of him loves it and it terrifies him. 

A knock at the door makes both of them flinch; Misha nearly drops his phone. He manages to keep it from escaping his grasp and shoots Richard a confused look. “Isn't it almost four in the morning?”

Richard nods, looking towards the door as the knocks begin again. It's a jerky rhythm, the pauses between too short and then too long. Almost as if the person on the other side has never knocked on a door before and isn't quite sure how to do it. Misha rolls his eyes, clearly thinking it's some teenagers, but he gets up and opens the door anyway. Richard follows behind him, keeping his distance. 

The front porch is dark, bathed in shadows. Misha frowns and flicks the light switch off and on a few times, sure that it had been on when they came home. He narrows his eyes and tries to make out who's standing on his porch, not saying anything. The only thing he can tell is that whoever it is is shorter than him. 

“Hello, can we help you?” Misha asks after giving up in the light switch.

The silence stretches on between them long enough to make Richard uncomfortable and he steps closer to Misha, peering over his shoulder. 

“Is Debra there?” the woman asks finally, voice muffled and slightly slurred. 

“No, there's not a Debra here. Sorry, you got the wrong house,” Misha says, a tightness to his voice that Richard picks up on. He trails his fingertips down the line of Misha's back, some of the tension leaving him.

“You sure?” the woman presses.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Misha replies, sighing through his nose.

Another pause, this one shorter. 

“Oh, okay.” The woman turns and walks away, a bit off balance, leaning to one side. They watch her go back down the walk to the road. They don't see a vehicle out there, but that doesn't matter to them. Misha leans out the door and reaches up to twist the bulb of the porch light experimentally. It's loose and he tightens it, lips pursing together in annoyed confusion. The light shines brightly, illuminating the porch. The woman is no longer in sight. Misha watches the outside world a moment longer, an uneasy feeling creeping up his back and making the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. He shakes it off and closes the door, turning around to find Richard much closer than he expected.

He can smell the body wash and shampoo Richard used and underneath that, the smell that is all Richard. Spice and musk twining together to intoxicate his senses. He inhales deeply, taking the scent of his lover in and letting it fill him up. He reaches out and cups Richard's cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin over his cheekbone. Richard hums in contentment, leaning into Misha's touch. Misha moves into Richard's personal space, eyes dropping from Richard's to rest on his lips.

They move at the same time, pressing against each other, mouths slanting together perfectly. Misha licks along Richard's bottom lip, seeking entrance. Richard opens his mouth, tongue sliding against Misha's as his arms wrap around Misha's neck. They somehow stumble back into the living room, falling onto the couch in a heap. Richard rocks his hips down into Misha as Misha runs his hands up his sides under his shirt, nails raking over his ribs.

Misha isn't being as gentle as he usually is, but Richard says nothing, knowing he deserves this bit of roughness and anger and hurt that Misha is taking out on him. He accepts the bruising kisses, the bites to the side of his neck, the nails being dragged across his skin. He lets Misha do whatever he wants because Misha deserves to, deserves to punish him and, in a strange way, he needs it, welcomes it. Just as he's undoing Misha's belt, there's another knock at the door.

“What the fuck?” Misha groans, sagging back into the couch.

“I don't know.” Richard climbs off of him, straightening out his clothing.

Misha stands as well, fixing his belt and smoothing his hands down his shirt. He crosses the living room quickly, Richard following him once again. The light is off once more. Misha flicks the switch a few more times before cursing and turning to look out into the night. There's no one on the porch. Richard steps past Misha and reaches up to fix the bulb once again. He pulls back with a cry of pain, almost stumbling off the porch before Misha catches his arm, pulling him back into the house and shutting the door behind them.

“What's wrong?” he asks, grabbing Richard's wrist. 

“The light bulb is broken. Grabbed the edges of the broken glass and sliced my hand up.” Richard holds his right hand out in front of him, blood pooling in the palm of his hand.

Blood runs down Richard's hand onto Misha's fingers. There are several cuts and scrapes on Richard's palm from his grabbing the broken light bulb unwittingly. Misha leads him into the bathroom and holds his hand in the sink, letting the water gently wash away the blood. Thankfully, there's no glass embedded in the wounds. Richard whimpers and his hand twitches, fingers curling when Misha presses a towel to the cuts to stop the bleeding. He applies pressure for a few moments, backing off when Richard whimpers again. He dabs at the cuts, wincing at the jagged edges and torn skin. They're not deep and don't need stitches, but they look painful all the same. 

Richard takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet while Misha digs around under the sink for the first aid kit. He finds it with a soft cry of triumph, making Richard smile despite the pain throbbing in his hand. Misha pulls out the roll of Ace bandage. 

“I think we're going to have to use this. All we have are regular sized band aides and it would take too many to patch you up.” Misha waves the roll of beige-colored bandages at Richard, who nods. Misha unravels the bandages and begins to wrap them around Richard's hand. 

“Too tight?” he asks when he's got two strips of bandage around the cuts. Blood seeps through, staining the pale fabric a deep reddish-brown. It's only a little and spotty, so Richard doesn't worry about it. It stops after a few minutes anyway after he shakes his head at Misha.

A few minutes later and they're done, Richard flexing his hand and testing out how it feels with the bandage wrapped around it. 

“Feel okay?” Misha asks, trailing soft fingers across Richard's palm.

“Yeah, thanks.” Richard smiles up at Misha. 

Misha nods and heads back into the living room, Richard following a moment later. He picks up his pack of cigarettes from the table where he tossed them when he came in. He shakes his last one out and frowns at the box. “I'm out of cigarettes.”

Misha looks up from the couch. “I'll go get you some.”

Richard shakes his head. “You don't have to.”

“It's fine. I'll build you a fire and then go get you some. I want to get out of the house anyway. A drive will clear my head,” Misha says, standing and beginning to work on the fire place. 

Richard just nods, watching as Misha coaxes a healthy flame up in the fireplace. He takes a seat on the brick rim around the fire place beside Misha and bumps his shoulder against him when he leans back. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. I'll be back in a little while.” Misha walks to the table, grabs his keys and heads for the front door.

Richard watches him leave, aching in a way he doesn't quite understand. He leans against the wall next to the fireplace and soaks in the heat of the flames. He hears the car start and pull out of the driveway. The emptiness of the house is suddenly intimidating and the silence is oppressive. He doesn't get up to do anything about it though, instead relaxing further into the bricks.

A few minutes later, a loud thud against the wood of the front door startles him from his musings. He jumps slightly, looking over to the front door. He blinks at it, wondering what hit it when a series of thuds rain down on it. Someone is knocking again. He glances at the clock. A quarter to five in the morning. He stands and walks over to the door, resting his uninjured hand on the knob. 

“Is Debra there?” The same woman from before is there, her voice muffled behind the heavy wood of the door.

Richard rests his forehead against the door. “You've already been here and we told you she isn't. You've still got the wrong house.”

He waits for a response, but there is none. He waits a few more seconds before opening the door and peering out into the night. There's no one out there and he lets out a sigh. He closes the door and locks it once more, feeling slightly unnerved by the woman's reappearance. He doesn't understand the rush of fear, deep and primal, that slams into him, but he's helpless to do anything, except get swept up in it.

The urge to call Misha and ask where he's at and when will he be back overtakes him and he gives in, going into the bedroom to dig through his jacket pocket for his cell phone. 

“Shit,” he mumbles as he taps at his touchscreen only for it to tell him “Low Battery” and turn itself off. He snatches his charger up from the nightstand and heads back into the living room, plugging his charger into the wall socket by the fireplace and hooking his phone up. The LED light flashes and the battery symbol pops up on screen, telling him that it is charging. He sets it on the ledge of the fireplace and grabs up the land line from its cradle on the coffee table.

He punches in Misha's cell number almost violently and waits impatiently for Misha to answer. 

“Hello?” After three rings, Richard is rewarded with Misha's voice.

“Misha? It's me. Where are you?” Richard asks in a rush.

“At the convenience store. Are you okay?” Misha picks up on the note of unease in Richard's voice.

“That woman came back,” he says and isn't sure why.

“Why?” Misha asks.

“I don't know. I think she's on drugs or something.” Richard shifts his weight from foot to foot. A creaking sound from the hallway catches his attention and he stops breathing, listening intently.

“Probably. Listen, I'll be home in a few minutes, just relax,” Misha soothes.

“Okay,” Richard says absently, attention still fixed on the hallway. He heard something, he's sure of it.

“I gotta go now, see you soon.” Misha hangs up after Richard mutters a farewell.

He puts the phone back in the cradle and shakes himself. It's an old house and old houses make all sorts of weird sounds. He's just being paranoid. He goes into the kitchen and snags a glass from the drainboard and sticks it under the faucet of the sink, filling it with cold water.

He takes a sip before going over to the table and looking at the ring box. He picks it up with one hand and flicks it open, staring at the sapphire and silver ring inside. Misha knows he doesn't like diamonds and prefers silver to gold. It's perfect and wonderful, just like Misha. The blue of the sapphire is almost as intense as Misha's eyes. He puts the glass down and slips the ring onto his left ring finger, admiring the sparkle of it in the light. He picks up his glass and takes another drink, leaning a hip against the table. 

He wonders what Misha will say when he sees that Richard is wearing the ring. He wonders if Misha will still want to marry him after he took his silence for a rejection and Richard didn't say anything to the contrary. Richard sighs and takes another drink of water, trying and failing to shove the doubt from his mind. He loves Misha, there's no question about that, but the idea of marriage scares him. It shouldn't, but he can't help it. It is an irrational fear and he does his best to hold back the negative thoughts, but they swarm in anyway. 

What if things change between him and Misha after they get married? What if they fight more? What if they get divorced? The what ifs just keep coming and coming and Richard can't stop them. He inhales, holds it for a moment, then exhales, trying to let go of the doubt. It works somewhat. The negative thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind where they belong. He smiles down at the ring and thinks he is ready to take this step with Misha as long as Misha holds his hand when they do. He knows Misha will though. He's always there for Richard and Richard can't think of anyone else he'd rather have at his side. 

Another creak from the living room this time has him whirling around and nearly dropping his glass. There's nothing and no one there, but his heart is racing and he's shaking now. He puts the glass on the counter and nearly runs for the fireplace, intent on getting to his cell phone. It's not there. The charger is still there, right where he left it, but his phone is gone. He searches the floor around the fireplace frantically, but there's no sign of his phone. 

He snatches the house phone off the coffee table and dials Misha's number again. He's gasping, eyes darting around the living room and into the hallway. He rushes to the front door and makes sure it's locked still. It is, the door knob and the heavy deadbolt in place. He slides the chain across the door and latches it too.

Misha finally answers, sounding slightly annoyed at being interrupted again. “What, Richard?”

“Someone's in the house!” he hisses, voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Misha sounds startled. 

“Someone is in the house. They took my cell phone. I had it plugged into the wall because it needed to be charged and now it's gone. I haven't touched it since I plugged it in. Someone is in the house!” Richard's desperation is mounting with every word. 

“Okay, okay. Calm down. I'll be home in like five minutes, okay?” Misha says, a note of worry in his voice.

“Okay, just hurry and stay on the phone with me,” Richard says, fear creeping into his voice.

Misha has already hung up though and a dial tone is all that greets Richard's words. He curses as he drops the phone onto the table and goes into the bedroom, sliding his shoes on and lacing them quickly. 

Something that sounds like footsteps echo loudly in the hallway outside the bedroom door and Richard nearly screams until Misha opens the door, calling his name.

“Bedroom!” Richard says loudly, trying to calm down. His hands are shaking as he rakes his fingers though his hair.

Misha pushes open the bedroom door and steps inside, tossing the bag onto the bed. Richard doesn't hesitate. Things may not be totally okay with them, but he needs Misha. He wraps his arms around Misha's waist, burying his face in Misha's shoulder.

Misha's arms circle around him automatically, hands stroking his back soothingly. “Hey, it's okay. Everything's okay.”

Richard takes a deep breath and moves back from Misha, digging in the bag for his cigarettes. He searches through his jacket pocket for his lighter and lights a cigarette when he has both in hand. His hands are still shaking and it takes three tries before the flame whooshes to life in the lighter.

“You're really freaked, aren't you?” Misha takes a seat on the edge of the bed and watches Richard puff on his cigarette. 

“You would be too. You should be too.” Richard exhales the smoke, turning his head away from Misha because Misha hates it when he smokes. As it is, Misha crinkles his nose and scowls.

Richard takes another drag off the cigarette and then puts it out in the ash tray on the nightstand. His nerves are slightly less frayed and he's tired of Misha making faces at him while he smokes. He's been trying to quit, but it's easier said than done like most things in life. Misha pulls him down on to the bed next to him and Richard goes willingly.

He's just about to say something when there's a pounding at the door. It's heavy and violent, each thud shaking the door on its hinges. The locks hold, but the door strains against the force of the pounding. “What the fuck?” Misha snaps, standing up and pulling Richard with him.

The pounding abruptly stops and they tense, Richard squeezing Misha's hand. Misha lets go of Richard and moves to the door, peeking out and listening. There's nothing but silence and the crackle of the fireplace. Misha opens the door and steps out into the hall, Richard staying in the bedroom. He walks into the living room, glancing at the fire to make sure it isn't too high before noticing something off about the entrance way.

The front door is open a tiny bit, just enough for someone to see into the house. Misha creeps over to the door and peers out of it. He shrieks and stumbles backwards when he realises that someone is staring back at him. He quickly recovers and slams the door shut, locking it and sliding the chain into place. Richard runs out of the bedroom when he hears Misha scream, looking terrified. “What is it, what happened?”

“Fuck! There's someone out there. You were right. There's someone in the house. Fucking fuck!” Misha rakes his hands through his hair, eyes wild as they race around the room, looking for anything and nothing all at once.

“What? Okay, calm down, we need to get out of here.” Another thud follows Richard's words and they both flinch.

“What the fuck is going on?” Misha demands frantically.

Before Richard can answer, there's a series of bangs against the front door and then something claws the front windows, the sound harsh and high-pitched. They wince at the sound, gritting their teeth against it. Just as suddenly as the noise began, silence falls around the house again. 

“Misha?” Richard whispers, reaching out for Misha's hand. Misha takes it and squeezes, motioning for Richard to be quiet as he continues to listen.

Richard falls silent and clutches Misha's hand tighter, heart racing in his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. Misha tugs him into the bedroom and closes the door, locking it behind them.

“Okay, we know for sure there is someone outside. There's more than likely someone inside the house too. We need to get out of here.” Misha pulls out his cell phone from his pants pocket.

“Who are you calling?” Richard asks, voice steady despite his fear.

“No one, I guess. No signal.” Misha glares down at the phone in his hand.

“Well, fuck. We could have called the police. Wait, where's the house phone?” Richard looks around the room for it. 

“You called me from it last. I don't know,” Misha answers, still tapping away at his phone.

“Fuck, it's on the kitchen table.” Richard groans.

“I'll go get it,” Misha says, shoving his useless cell phone into his pocket.

Richard frowns. “Let me go with you.”

“It'll only take one of us.” Misha makes for the door, pulling his hand free of Richard's.

Richard's frown deepens, but he doesn't argue. He watches as Misha slowly edges out the door, looking warily around the hall before slipping down it into the dining room. Richard leans out the door, hand gripping the door jamb tightly, knuckles turning white against brown wood. 

Misha hurries over to the table, searching every inch of it for the house phone. It's not there. “Fuck!” he snaps, slamming his palm on the table. He hurries into the living room, checking the cradle for it and looking in all the usual places. It's not there, it's not anywhere. He can't find it and he doesn't want to leave Richard alone any longer than he has to, so he goes back into the bedroom. 

“You find it?” Richard asks, reaching out for Misha, needing to touch to make sure he's really there.

“No. They must have it along with your cell phone.” Misha squeezes Richard's hand once before letting go again.

Misha opens the door to the closet and clicks on the light. He reaches up to the shelf above the hanging clothes, rummaging around and knocking several boxes of trinkets down before finding the one he wants.

Richard watches him curiously for a moment before asking what he's doing.

Misha sits down on the floor, ignoring Richard in favor of the box for a moment. He opens it and takes out a handgun, the light glinting off the barrel dangerously. Richard frowns. “I thought you got rid of that.”

“No, I just let you believe I did.” Misha slides a fresh magazine home and chambers a round. 

“So you lied to me.” Richard glares at Misha.

“Do you really think now is the time to be arguing over this? Besides this just might save our lives. Now let's get to the car, okay?” Misha stands up, pocketing the extra magazine as he goes.

Richard continues to glare, but nods and follows Misha when he heads out the door, gun cocked and at the ready. They creep down the hall to the front door, tense and listening to every little sound. Misha throws open the front door and checks either side of them before stepping out, Richard so close behind him that he's almost stepping on the backs of Misha's shoes.

“What the hell?” Misha breathes when they get to the car.

Broken glass crunches underfoot, the little pieces scattered all along the ground on all sides of the car. The glass catches the light from the streetlamp and tosses a pink glitter back up at them in a thousand different directions. All four windows are smashed along with the front and back windshields. Misha opens the driver side door and growls. The keys aren't in the seat where he left them. Whoever is stalking them tonight must have taken them too. He leans down in the floorboard area and growls in frustration. They cut the wires down here too, so there's no way to hot wire the car either. 

He stands up straight and slams the car door as hard as he can. The car rocks hard to the side for a moment before evening out again. Richard looks at him with concern in his hazel eyes, but Misha ignores him, focusing instead on the beam of light that is cutting across the lawn from behind the old barn that had came with the house. He motions for Richard to come over to him and keeps his eyes fixed on the light as it turns in their direction briefly. He jerks Richard down with him as he crouches behind the side of the car.

He knows that whoever it is has to be aware that they're over here. There's no way they missed him slamming the car door. It was way too loud for that. He peers cautiously around the back end of the car, searching for the light, but it's gone. He stands up, tugging Richard with him. He shoves Richard in front of him, telling him to run for the house. Misha checks the car one last time for anything useful, but there's nothing in there except for broken glass. 

He jogs quickly after Richard, shutting and locking the front door behind them. He follows Richard into the living room. “Any luck finding the house phone or your cell phone?” 

“Yeah.” Richard points to the fireplace where both phones are melting, the orange flames lapping at the plastic, the melted chunks oozing away from the body, landing on the wood below, hissing and sizzling. 

Misha stares at it for a moment. “Well, shit.”

“Check your cell again,” Richard says, glaring at the fire.

Misha nods, putting the handgun down on the coffee table. He pulls the phone out of his pocket and taps at the screen. He moves it about, walking all around the room, doing the crazy dance flails that people do when they're trying to find a signal. After a few minutes of this and Richard cracking a smile despite the circumstances, he finally slips it back into his pocket with a sigh. “No luck, babe. Sorry.”

They retreat to the bedroom, Richard taking a seat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh.

“We're so fucked and not in the fun, happy way either.” Richard buries his face in his hands. 

Misha wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. “We'll get out of here and get somewhere safe. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

Richard laughs hollowly. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

As soon as the words leave Richard's mouth, something slams into the glass of the window, startling Richard and Misha. Misha flinches, tightening his hold on Richard while Richard jumps and yelps. 

“The fuck was that?” Misha asks as he snatches the gun back up off the coffee table.

He twitches back the curtain just in time for another paintball to explode against the glass. That's what the other thing was too. Just harmless paintballs. Written in the same red paint all over the window pane is 'Hello'. All over the window, the same word repeated over and over again. Misha jerks the curtain back into place, wincing as another paintball slams into the glass.

“Now they're taunting us. Great.” Richard lays back on the bed with a sigh. 

“Let them taunt us. If that's the worst they're going to do, then so be it,” Misha snaps back.

The sound of glass shattering somewhere in the house cuts off whatever reply Richard was going to give. They freeze, tense and waiting, straining their ears to hear any sort of noise that might follow. Footsteps, heavy and thumping, are heard outside their bedroom. 

“Did you lock the door?” Misha whispers, his breath tickling Richard's neck. They are standing pressed together, each clutching the other close to them.

“No. Did you?” Richard whispers back.

Misha shakes his head no. Richard's fists grip his shirt harder as he buries his face in Misha's neck. Misha's free hand automatically strokes up and down his back, trying to sooth Richard even though he's scared out of his mind. He raises the gun and aims it at the door, knowing that whoever is out there is just beyond the dark wood.

The footsteps fade away, going farther back into the house, away from the bedroom. Misha lowers the gun and Richard looks up, still shaking faintly. He pulls himself away from Misha, taking the gun from him as he goes. 

“What are you doing?” Misha hisses at him.

“To end this.” Richard opens the door and heads for the living room, Misha following behind him, trying to get him to go back into the bedroom. Richard shakes him off, pressing one finger to his lips in a gesture to silence Misha.

They move silently, slowly as they peer around the corner into the living room. There's a person in there, clearly a man with broad shoulders under a suit jacket. There's a mask of some sort over his head. It looks more like a burlap bag than a mask. He's looking at the pictures that line the mantle. Misha pulls Richard back behind the corner, out of sight. Richard opens his mouth to say something, but Misha puts his hand over it and leans out cautiously, peeking at the man. The living room is empty now.

Misha drags Richard back into the bedroom, looking irritated. “What the fuck were you planning on doing? Huh? Getting yourself killed?”

Richard drops the gun on the bed and ignores Misha. He moves the curtains aside and looks at the red 'Hello's scribbled across their window. 

“Answer me, Richard,” Misha growls as he locks the bedroom door this time.

“I just don't want to die, okay? Better we kill them before they can kill yo- us. Kill us.” Richard clears his throat and continues to face the window, not meeting Misha's too intense gaze. 

“They're not going to kill anyone, Rich. Not me, not you. We're going to get out of this.” Misha softens, coming up behind Richard and meeting his eyes in the reflection in the window. Misha's hands curl around Richard's hips, settling into the familiar warmth that he can feel through Richard's clothing.

Richard leans back against Misha's chest, somewhat soothed by his words, but still uneasy. There are people in their house. People they don't know. People who are uninvited and unwanted. People who want to scare them, hurt them, possibly even kill them. This is the ultimate violation of privacy and it feels so wrong. It makes Richard feel dirty and their precious home, the one they built together, feels wrong to him now. 

His hand seeks out Misha's and he clutches it tightly. Misha strokes his thumb over Richard's knuckles, wrapping his other arm around Richard's waist. They need this moment of comfort they take from each other in the midst of their fear. It doesn't last long though. There's a pounding on the bedroom door and they spring apart, Misha going for the gun on the bed. He snatches it up and aims it at the door, shoving Richard behind him instinctively. 

The knob is jiggled, but the door remains close, the lock holding for now. Angry thuds rain down on the door once more before stopping just as suddenly as they had begun. Richard's fingers curl into the back of Misha's shirt, clenching the fabric tightly. They wait, straining their hearing over the sound of their harsh breathing in the ringing silence. The sound of the front door slamming makes them sigh in relief. 

“You think it's over?” Richard asks, pressing close to Misha.

“Hopefully.” Misha edges to the door, gun still held at the ready.

“Where are you going?” Richard whispers, sounding terrified again. His fingers twist the hem of Misha's shirt in an attempt to keep the other man here with him. 

“We need to know if they're out of the house. I'm going to check. Don't worry, I'll have the gun and I'll be careful, okay?” Misha raises the hand that's holding the gun and gently frees his shirt from Richard's grasp.

Richard lunges forward and presses his lips against Misha's with a touch of desperation, his hands clenching in Misha's shirt. Misha grunts in surprise, his own hands coming up instinctively to push Richard away, still startled by the suddenness of his actions. He relaxes and runs his free hand through Richard's hair. He holds the gun down by his side, away from them. 

Richard pulls away after a few moments and looks at Misha, really looks at him. He takes in everything about the man he loves, every little detail right down to the laugh lines around his eyes to the bit of dark stubble across his jaw. Misha doesn't say anything, just watches Richard look.

Richard sighs and strokes a hand across Misha's cheek briefly. “Be careful. I can't lose you.”

Misha catches his hand and opens his mouth to say something when he looks down and sees the ring on Richard's finger. He stares at it silently before looking back up at Richard. “Is this a yes?”

Richard smiles. “Yes.”

Misha activates the safety feature on the gun and puts it on the bed. He wraps his arms around Richard and pulls him in for another kiss, this one longer and harder. When they break apart, Misha grins, squeezing Richard one more time. “I'll be right back.”

He's picking up the gun and out the door before Richard can say anything else. He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the open door Misha just disappeared through. 

Misha slips quietly down the hall into the living room, checking around corners and keeping the gun held out in front of him. There's no one in sight. He breathes a sigh of relief. He turns to the kitchen and the sight of a woman with blonde hair and a cartoonish mask is the last thing he sees before something slams into the back of his head. He crumples into a heap on the floor at the feet of the masked man. The woman tilts her head at Misha as the man leans down, drags him into the living room, and settles him in front of the fire place. 

The woman follows. The man gestures to her and then points down the hall to the bedroom where Richard still is. She nods and heads into the hall, fingertips trailing along the wall. She pauses just out of sight of the open door and waits.

Richard is working himself up into a frenzy now, waiting for Misha to get back. Checking the house shouldn't have taken this long. The house isn't that big. He stops in front of the door, staring at the wall of the hall way. He inhales, holds his breath as he counts to seven, and then exhales slowly, mentally steeling himself for whatever he's going to find out there.

Nothing. You're going to find nothing but Misha and an empty house. You're going to kiss him and you're going to laugh because you got yourself all worked up over nothing. He's going to laugh with you because he knows how you are. There's nothing out there except Misha. Richard tries to reassure himself, but as he steps out the door and comes face to well, mask with the woman waiting on him, he knows he was wrong. They probably already found Misha and they've probably killed him and now they're going to kill him too. The woman steps forward and Richard's eyes drop to the butcher knife held by her side. He could run, but she's blocking the way to the front door and the path behind him only leads to the bathroom and two guest rooms.

He swallows thickly and winces when she grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him in front of her and directing him towards the living room. The knife blade is pressed against his back, the cold of the steel seeping through his thin tee shirt. As they walk down the hall, she drags the tip of the knife up his back to the nape of his neck, pressing down on the knife. Richard can't help the shiver that runs through his body at the feeling of the knife against his bare skin.

When they get to the living room, he spots Misha on the floor in front of the fireplace with the man standing over him. Richard makes to rush to Misha's side, but the woman slides an arm around his neck and presses the edge of the blade against his skin. He stills and watches as Misha groans and sits up slowly, hands cradling his head. He leans against the fireplace and blinks his eyes open. He spots Richard first. 

“Richard, what's going on?” Misha asks, massaging his temples. 

“We've still got company,” Richard says in a strained voice.

Misha looks confused before spotting the knife held at Richard's throat and the man standing beside him, watching him intently. Misha tries to scramble away and get to his feet, but the man shakes his head and gestures to the woman holding Richard. She presses the blade harder against his flesh and drags it slowly, delicately across his skin. A thin line of blood appears after a moment and drips down the front of Richard's shirt, staining the white fabric. 

Misha freezes and stares at the blood, horrified. Richard does his best not to show how much the shallow cut actually hurts, but he can't help the hiss that escapes his clenched teeth because damn, does that burn. The woman moves around in front of him and catches a bit of the blood on her fingertip. She kneels in front of Misha and smears the blood on his lips, ignoring the sound of disgust he makes. He almost shoves her away, but the man aims the gun that Misha dropped at him and cocks it. Misha lets his hands fall back to the ground, palms flat.

The man shifts to point the gun at Richard and gestures for him to sit down beside Misha. Richard obeys and Misha reaches out to squeeze his hand gently, mindful of the bandaged cuts. Richard manages a weak smile for him and then presses the collar of his shirt against the cut. It's almost stopped bleeding now. The front door opens and another woman, this one with dark hair, strides into the living room. She seems agitated for some reason, her footsteps sharp and quick. She waves a hand at her partners, gesturing for them to come over.

The man nods at Misha and Richard and speaks for the first time. “Don't move.” His voice has a harsh rasp to it, the voice of a long time smoker, like gravel on concrete. It's rough and unkind.

They nod and their three tormentors move into the entrance way for a moment, speaking in quiet tones. The dark-haired woman points out the open front door, the others turning to look. The sound of a car pulling up in the driveway makes Misha tense and groan in dismay. Richard looks over at Misha, concerned. The man pushes the door shut and they head into the kitchen to watch and wait without being seen until the time is right. The door doesn't close all the way and is left open a small bit. There's no time for anyone to go and shut it.

The engine is turned off and a car door opens and slams. Richard leans over to Misha. “Who is it?”

“Sebastian. I called him earlier to come get me. I didn't think he would be here until tomorrow.” Misha sighs.

“Misha? Richard? You guys here?” Sebastian approaches the slightly ajar door cautiously, glancing around the porch for a weapon. He snags an iron pike from where it's leaning against the wall of the house. He pushes open the door and calls out again. 

Richard glances at Misha. “Should we warn him?” he whispers.

“I don't want him hurt thoughm,” Misha replies, frowning in concern. 

It's too late one way or the other. Sebastian has pushed open the door and is looking around the entrance way before heading into the living room slowly, calling out their names again.

He drops the pike when he sees Misha and Richard leaning against the fireplace, both of them wary and tense. “What's going on? Why is the door open?” he asks as he rushes over to them and kneels down.

The man moves swiftly and quietly up behind Sebastian as Misha and Richard watch in horror and presses the gun he took from Misha to the back of Sebastian's head. “Hello.”

Sebastian stills, eyes wide. He looks up at Misha who shakes his head in despair. The women walk back into the living room and look Sebastian over. The blonde strokes her fingers through his hair briefly and he makes a face of disgust at her touch. 

“Another plaything for us,” the man says, looking down at Sebastian. 

Richard whispers hoarsely to him, “I'm sorry, Seb.”

Misha looks at the blonde woman and the knife still held in her hand. He glances to the dark-haired woman, the only unarmed one, and sees she is far enough away, on the other side of the man. He moves quickly, rising to his knees and lunging at the blonde, snatching the knife out of her hands and shoving it under the couch. He knocks her down, arms around her knees, making her head slam into the carpet with a muffled thud. It's not enough to knock her out, but it does stun her. 

The man turns, moving the gun away from Sebastian and firing at Misha, but the shot goes wide when Misha takes down the blonde. Sebastian whips around, still on his knees, and shoves the man in the hip, making him stumble enough that Sebastian can get to his feet and punch him in the face. The man drops the gun instinctively, hands coming up to his face as blood begins to darken the fabric of the sack-like mask he's wearing.

The dark haired woman swears and reaches for Sebastian, but Richard is already on his feet and grabbing her arm, throwing her into the man and knocking them both down. Richard pulls Misha to his feet as Sebastian grabs the gun from the floor. 

“Well, I think it's time to get the fuck out of here, mates,” Sebastian says in a tone that's the kind of calm that edges towards hysteria.

Misha and Richard nod and they start running towards the door, but the other three are back on their feet as well and chasing after them. The blonde woman even has the knife back, having gotten it when they were distracted with her partners. They give chase down the front lawn, ignoring Sebastian's car because they don't have time to get in it and down to the road. Richard trips and stumbles, but doesn't fall. It doesn't matter, it's the opening that the blonde woman needs to slash the knife viciously across his back.

He screams at the sudden, burning pain on his back and this time, he does fall. Misha skids to a stop, Sebastian right behind him. Sebastian aims the gun at the man since he's the closest one now. “I will shoot you.” 

The man slowly shakes his head from side to side mockingly. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have pulled the trigger already,” he says, amusement clear in his voice.

“Well, as fun as this is, I'm starting to get a little bored.” The blonde moves towards them, Sebastian turning the gun on her now.

There's the opening that the man was waiting for. He tackles Sebastian to the ground and wrestles the gun from him, punching him across the jaw. He stands, leaving Sebastian in the dirt at his feet and aims the gun at him. “Unlike you, I have no problem killing someone.”

He aims the gun at Sebastian's head and pulls the trigger. The flash from the muzzle is blindingly bright in the darkness. The report of the gunshot is deafening and there's a ringing left in their ears, the sounds of the night muffled and dulled to their senses. Misha and Richard stare in shock at Sebastian, now splayed out on his back, a bleeding hole in the center of his forehead. The man aims the gun at Richard this time. 

“Let's go back up to the house,” he orders, no room for disobedience in his voice.

Misha and Richard look down at Sebastian, horror and shock on their faces. Richard staggers away a bit and dry heaves, collapsing to his knees, arms wrapped around his torso. Misha can't do anything but stand there and stare down in utter terror at the body of one of his best friends.  
Suddenly, there is a gun in Misha's face. The man cocks the hammer and stares him down, though Misha can't see his eyes through the holes in the bag that serves as his mask. “I said get back to the house. I'm not going to say it again.” 

Misha stares blankly at him before the words filter through the haze of shock that surrounds him and nods weakly. He manages to make it over to Richard, who is still on his knees, hunched over in misery and fear and pulls him to his feet, mumbling nonsensical words to him. Honestly, he couldn't tell you what he said in those moments if his life depended on it. Thankfully, it only depends on Misha getting himself and Richard to the house before the man decides he is done playing and kills them anyway, right here, right now.

With a sinking feeling deep in his chest, Misha knows, knows, that they aren't going to make it out of this alive. The feeling settles deep in his heart, in his very soul, and the last bit of hope he has is extinguished just like that. Like pinching your fingers together on the flame of a candle. He feels cold and clammy and he just can't deal with all of this at the moment, so he shuts down on his emotions and wraps an arm around Richard's waist, guiding him in front of the killers (That's what they are now: killers. They killed him; oh my God, they killed Sebastian. Why the fuck did they do that? He's dead, he's dead, gone, dead, killed, dead, dead, dead, dead-) Misha clamps down hard on that train of thought and leads Richard back up the lawn and into the house once more.

They are followed by their tormentors and shoved roughly into the house when they reach the front door. The women drag two chairs in from the dining room and place them in front of the fireplace. With a harsh voice, the man orders them to sit. Misha gently pushes Richard down in to a chair before taking the other one. Richard continues to cling to his hand too tightly, but Misha doesn't care, can barely feel it. The blonde woman hands Misha the knife she has and steps back from him. He looks down at it blankly, not even bothering to contemplate a way to get them out of this. They aren't getting out of it.

“He belongs to you, doesn't he?” the man asks in a conversational tone, gesturing to Richard with the gun.

Misha looks up at him, not quite understanding what he means. His confusion must show on his face because the man continues on.

“I mean, you two are clearly together. So I have a deal for you. Take the knife and cut your name on him somewhere – I'll leave the ‘where’ up to you – or I put a bullet in your head. Do we have a deal?” the man asks, like he's really giving Misha a choice here.

He's asking Misha to hurt the one person in the world that he loves with everything in him. He's asking him to hurt Richard - sweet, funny, kind Richard who loves Misha in ways that Misha can't even begin to understand. He's asking Misha to hurt Richard or be killed. That choice is a simple one. He'd rather die than hurt Richard. He makes to toss the knife away when Richard grabs his arm.

“Misha, just do it. I can deal with a little pain as long as I don't lose you, okay?” Richard stares Misha down, honey-hazel eyes haunted now, but the love he has for Misha still shines through.

Misha reaches out with his free hand and caresses Richard's cheek. Richard leans into Misha's touch, keeping their eyes locked. He brushes his fingers along Misha's cheekbone. “Please,” he whispers.

Misha nods, a little piece of his soul breaking with what he is about to do. Richard holds out his arm, palm up, and guides Misha's hand, the one holding the knife, to it. Misha starts shaking so hard he nearly drops the knife. Richard leans forward and presses his lips chastely against Misha's. “It's okay. I love you,” he whispers against them.

The man clears his throat. “We don't have all night, you know. Start slicing or I kill you.”

Misha inhales sharply and presses the blade down against Richard's skin, cutting the first line of the M, trying to make it as shallow as possible. Richard clenches his other hand into a tight fist, trying to keep the one being cut as relaxed as possible so as not to cause further damage. Misha closes off all thought and focuses on the task, trying not to listen to Richard's soft gasps and whimpers. He's trying to hold most of them back, but a few still slip through.

The I is simple as was the M. The S less so, but Misha doesn't bother to make it curve, just three diagonal lines, then H and the A follow. The blood is running down Richard's arm in red rivulets, staining Misha’s hands. The handle of the knife is slick with it from where Misha wiped a bit of it off of Richard's wrist. It drips onto the carpet and Misha knows that it will never come out, no matter how many times they steam clean it.

Misha feels hysterical laughter building up in his chest and bubbling up in his throat. He just carved his name into his fiances' arm and he's over here thinking about the fucking carpet of all things. He pushes it down, knowing this isn't the time to lose it. They've got to do something about the bleeding gashes in Richard's arm before he's forced to do anything else horrific to the poor man. There's no doubt in Misha's mind that they aren't done with the two of them just yet.

“Very good. You can take orders,” the man praises sarcastically as he takes the knife back from Misha, ignoring the blood on it. He hands it to the blonde, who takes it lovingly, stroking a fingertip along the blade, smearing the blood.

Misha glares at him, but says nothing for fear of triggering his anger and making him hurt Richard again. The man chuckles, amused by his defiance, however small it is. “Get the rope,” he says to the dark-haired woman. 

She walks into the dining room over to the table and returns with a loop of rope hanging on one arm. The man trades her the gun for the rope, and she keeps it leveled at them while the man ties them both to their chairs, pressing down hard with the rough braid against Richard's cuts. It burns and tears at the skin, making Richard cry out and Misha cringe in his chair. They are pressed side to side as the rope wraps around both of them.

When he's done, the man moves back in front of them, standing in between the women. The blonde takes her mask off first, gently setting it on the floor. The dark-haired woman places her mask on the mantle of the fireplace behind them. The man takes his off last and tosses it onto the couch carelessly.

In that very instant, Misha knows these people never intended to let them live through this night. He knows they are going to die, but these people knew it first. He reaches out to Richard, curling their fingers together as best as he can in their awkward positions. “I love you,” Richard whispers, voice hoarse and strained.

“I love you too. So much,” Misha says, pressing his forehead to Richard's, tears filling his eyes. This can't be the end. He never thought he would die like this. He doesn't think of death often, but when he does, he always imagined he'd go in his sleep of old age, curled around Richard. If not that, then doing something stupid and crazy and fun, having the time of his life, but not like this. Tied up in his own home, forced to torture his lover, seeing the death of his best friend, being the cause of his best friend's murder. This isn't how his life is supposed to go. This isn't how his story is written and he'll be damned if he lets it end this way.

He can feel wetness on his cheeks and knows Richard is crying now. His own tears won't fall. He refuses to let them. He won't give the murderers the satisfaction, but he doesn't blame Richard. He isn't sure how he's holding it together, but he supposes he's not really because he doesn't think wanting to laugh in the face of a killer is quite sane, but that's no matter to him. He blinks open his eyes, unaware that he'd closed them, and glances out of the corner of his eye to watch the killers. They stand there, watching them silently, as if unwilling to interrupt this moment, this last moment, between him and Richard. 

Richard turns to face them abruptly, desperation in his eyes and in his voice when he speaks. “Why us? Why are you doing this to us?”

The dark-haired woman grins at them and says simply, “Because you were home.”

Misha feels sick to his stomach, rage and fear churning inside him, warring for which one has the most attention on them. He wants to throw up, can feel it burning its way up his throat, but he holds it back, forces it down. They're the ones being tormented because they were home. No other reason. A sheer chance of Fate, a bad throw of the Luck die. A random act of chance and here they are.

The blonde moves first, kneeling down on the ground and placing the knife at their feet. She remains kneeling for a moment, just watching them. The dark-haired woman puts the gun on the mantle beside her mask and waits behind them. The man watches the blonde pick up the knife once more, face expressionless. She presses the tip to Misha's stomach and Misha knows what's coming and does all he can to brace himself, but there's really no preparing for the sheer agony that explodes inside him as the woman slides the knife in slowly, so slowly, letting him feel every single centimeter of steel moving into him, cutting him smoothly. 

Richard lets out a strangled half-sob, clutching at Misha's fingers with his own as best he can, eyes locked onto Misha's own. He strains forward, pressing his lips to Richard's as she pulls the knife back out. She giggles then, a brief, bright burst of pure happiness that is so out of place among the fire behind them and the broken pieces of their home and their life. She moves to Richard now, tracing the knife down his chest to his stomach as if contemplating the perfect place to push into his body. Without warning, she slams it in, hard and fast. Misha catches Richard's half-scream of pain with his mouth, but Richard is pulling away, staring down at the knife handle that is sticking out of his stomach. 

She grins up at him, still too happy, and pulls it out slowly, making him cry out once more with the drag and pull of skin around the edges of the knife. It burns, hot and sharp, sending agony pulsing through him with every beat of his heart. Blood is pooling on the floor around them, thicker than ever. It spills down their clothing and smears across their arms and legs. 

Misha is almost unconscious from the pain, but he manages to hear the blonde tell her partners that they need to bring in the body from outside before they can leave. Don't want anyone poking around here too soon, she says, sounding almost giddy. The man agrees and they walk outside, footsteps crunching over broken glass and splinters from the door as they go out into the morning. 

Sunshine is drenching the floor in front of the open door and Misha stares at it, knowing this is the last time he will ever see it. He looks over at Richard to show him, but Richard has blacked out from the pain, or maybe the blood loss, and is limply hanging from the ropes binding them to the chairs.

The three killers come back inside, carrying Sebastian's body, and they drop him on the floor in front of Misha and Richard. His body makes a sickening thud as it lands. Misha turns his head away, unable to bear the sight of his friend's body. They leave again and the silence is suddenly deafening to Misha. Richard is still out though. He doesn't know what he'd say to him either. What do you say to your lover right as you're about to die? 

He works at the ropes, the pain from the stab wound sending jolts throughout his body, but he takes them in, uses them to fuel his rapidly building anger. He twists his wrists, freeing his arms from the ropes, and lifts them over his head as best he can. It hurts to raise his arms too high, and that makes getting the ropes off a difficult task, but he manages somehow. A beeping noise alerts Misha to Sebastian. His cell phone. Misha nearly starts crying in relief, but he slides off his chair instead, landing on his knees before the pain forces him to all fours. He crawls over to Sebastian, the pain sending sparks of lightening with his every move, but it's worth it when Misha slips his hand into Sebastian's coat pocket and pulls out his cell phone.

He ignores the text message and calls the last person Sebastian talked to, not caring who it is. Misha isn't up to dialing anything on Sebastian's touch screen and considers himself lucky he even remembers the password to unlock the phone through the haze of pain that surrounds him. The phone rings once, twice, a half dozen times before a voicemail picks up. It's Jared's voice telling him to leave a message and he'll get back to Misha as soon as he can.

“Help us, please. At home, need help now. Emergency. Dying,” Misha croaks softly into the phone, hoping he's loud enough to hear.

A pair of boots stops in front of him. The man is back and he clicks his tongue at Misha for daring to call someone for help. He reaches down and plucks the phone from Misha's hands and walks away with it, walks away with the last shred of hope Misha had left. He lays his head down on the carpet and cries silently. 

Jared makes it to his cell phone just as it stops ringing. “Damn.” He waits a few moments and then his phone chimes, informing him that he has a voicemail waiting. He calls it and listens, his face slowly draining of color. After the message is done playing, he collapses on to the bed. He plays it one more time before screaming Jensen's name.

When he hears Jared’s scream for him, Jensen comes running from the living room, where he had been piling up their luggage to take to the airport for their honeymoon. He skids to a halt in the doorway. “Babe, what's the matter, what's wrong?”

Wordlessly, Jared hands him his phone. Jensen takes it, looking confused. “Play the message,” Jared says.

Jensen does as Jared instructed and listens to Misha's raspy, too-quiet voice on the other end. He pales underneath his freckles and, when he gives the phone back to Jared, his hands are shaking. “Do you really think he's in trouble?”

“Doesn't it sound that way? We have to get there.” Jared leaps to his feet and wraps a hand around Jensen's wrist, jerking him to the front door in his haste to get to his friend. 

Jensen stops long enough to grab his keys and his own phone from the table before hurrying after Jared, unlocking the car with a push of a button. They get in and buckle their seatbelts, Jensen starting the car. It's about a twenty-minute drive from their house to Misha and Richard's. They make it in seven from the way Jensen is speeding. At this hour, they don't see anyone else on the road, so Jared doesn't say anything, just clings to the door and prays to whatever deity might be listening that his friends are alright. 

Jensen pulls into the driveway behind Misha's car, and immediately they can tell something is wrong. The glass from the windows in the car is shattered, the tiny pieces sparkling in the sunlight. They jump out of the car and race up the lawn, staring in horror at the busted front door. They enter a little more cautiously, but Jared races over to Misha as soon as he catches sight of the wrecked living room.

Dimly, in the background, he can hear Jensen calling 911, but he isn't listening. He crashes to the floor beside Sebastian and Misha. He frantically searches for a pulse in Sebastian’s neck, even though he can see the bullet hole in his forehead. He wants to be sick, wants to deny that this is real when he can't find a pulse, but the glaring truth is that this is reality and Sebastian is dead. He turns and looks at Misha, wide-eyed and shaking now. He feels for a pulse in Misha's neck, pleased when he finds one, although it's slow and weak. Misha is still breathing, still alive, still has a heartbeat. Jared's heart nearly stops again though, when he gets up and moves to Richard, untying the knots in the rope and pulling it off of him. His chest isn't moving as far as Jared can tell, but he checks for a pulse and again, finds one, but Richard's is weaker than Misha's, barely there.

He doesn't know what happened, doesn't care at that moment. All he wants is for Misha and Richard to stay alive. All of a sudden, Jensen's hands are on him, pulling him away from Richard. There are paramedics here now, moving around, checking out Misha and Richard. Jared watches in a detached sort of way, aware of the chaos around him, but not really a part of it. He leans against Jensen's side and Jensen wraps an arm around his waist, holding him.

They watch in shock and grief as Sebastian is declared dead and loaded onto a stretcher, a white sheet covering his body. Jensen swallows thickly, eyes filling with tears that are quick to fall, sliding down his cheeks in wet trails. Jared isn't far behind him. They cling to each other, seeking comfort in the broken and violated space that was once their best friends’ home.

They watch as Misha and Richard are loaded onto stretchers, oxygen masks placed on their faces, and wheeled outside to the waiting ambulances. Jensen asks one of the paramedics what hospital they're going to be taken to and nods when she tells him that they’re headed to Sacred Heart. It's the closest one in town. The ambulances slam their doors and speed off, sirens wailing and tires crunching on the gravel. 

Jensen guides Jared over to their car and they follow the ambulances to the hospital, arriving a few seconds after they do. They trail after the paramedics as they push Misha and Richard into the Emergency Room, listening, but not understanding the words that are being shouted back and forth. A sense of urgency as words like “stab wound” and “severe blood loss” are said builds up and Jared thinks he's going to burst when a nurse spots them and approaches them, leading them into the waiting room after asking if they're friends or family. 

Jensen answers “family” for them both, knowing they probably won't be allowed in the rooms if they're not family. Jared stares down at his hands in his lap, feeling useless and helpless as they sit there, waiting and waiting and waiting for any news on Misha and Richard. 

The police arrive, having been informed by someone at the hospital. It hasn't even occurred to Jensen and Jared to call the cops, being too caught up in worrying about the physical wellbeing of their friends. The police question them, asking what they saw, what happened, did they see anyone suspicious around the house? The questions are a blur for Jared. He tells them about the voicemail Misha sent him and they take his cell phone for evidence. He doesn't care. He asks if they know who did this to his friends. They say they have a few leads and will be in touch with them. He's handed a card with the detective's name and number on it, which he slides in to his pocket.

Jensen guides him back over to the chairs and they take a seat, Jared latching on to Jensen's hand as soon as they sit down. Hours pass with no word from anyone in regards to Misha and Richard's condition. Doctors and nurses walk past, but no one stops and tells them anything. Jensen rises to his feet and gets coffee, pressing a white Styrofoam cup into Jared's hands. It's late afternoon now. Time rushes past and Jared doesn't notice. He doesn't talk much, occasionally answering Jensen's questions here and there, but mostly he's silent, worrying and waiting.

Finally, a doctor heads towards them, bloody scrubs and all. He asks if they're relatives of the two patients with stab wounds that were brought in by ambulances this morning. Jared and Jensen get to their feet, confirming this. “How are they?” Jared asks, half-fearing the answer.

“They both had a stab wound to the abdomen and severe blood loss, but no major internal damage. They're very lucky for that. They have stitches for the wound and had to have several blood transfusions, but they are expected to make a full recovery. One of them had several cuts on his arm. They were stitched up and might scar, but it's superficial. There was also a bandage around his hand. We checked those and found more cuts, but they did not require stitches. We cleaned and rewrapped those,” the doctor explains, rocking slightly back and forth on his feet. 

Jared sighs heavily and sinks back down in to his chair, the hard plastic feeling oddly welcoming as his knees go weak with relief. Jensen asks the doctor when they'll be able to see Richard and Misha.

“They're sedated at the moment, but you can go see them now, if you'd like,” he says, gesturing to a nurse to come here.

“Nurse Rachel here will take you to their room and answer any questions you have.” With that, the doctor turns heel and takes off down the corridor, leaving them with the nurse.

“Well, follow me then,” she says politely, leading them down the hallway. 

They stop at the very end of the hall, the last room on the right. Both Misha and Richard are in there, hooked up to heart monitors and various other machines that beep and chime softly. A blood pressure cuff is wrapped around both of their arms and the machine attached to it takes it automatically every half hour. There's a recliner beside each bed. They part the curtains around either bed and, upon setting the recliners between them, sit down so that they can see Misha and Richard at the same time.

“Any questions? You need anything?” Nurse Rachel asks, looking over both charts before turning her attention to the men in front of her. They both shake their heads, and she gives a soft smile. 

“I'll be up at the Nurses' Station if you need me. Or you can press the call button. Either one.” She walks quickly to the door, leaving them in peace with their friends.

“They'll be okay, right?” Jared asks Jensen, looking at him, reaching for his hand again.

“Of course. They’ll heal up and go home and everything will be okay. The cops will catch who did this and everything will be okay,” Jensen soothes, stroking Jared's hand. 

Jared nods, suddenly letting out a hoarse laugh. “What?” Jensen asks, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“We missed our flight.” Jared continues to laugh helplessly, an expression of relief from the grief and worry. Jensen smiles slightly, allowing his lover his moment. 

Jared calms himself and reaches out with his free hand for Richard's. He notices the ring on his ring finger and studies it for a moment. “Guess Misha finally asked him.”

“Asked him what?” Jensen looks over at Richard.

“To marry him.” Jared holds Richard’s hand up for Jensen to see, being careful with the tubes and wires attached to his arm and hand.

“It's about damn time,” Jensen grumbles affectionately, rolling his eyes at his friends.

Jared chuckles again, gently laying Richards' hand back down on the bed. Jensen finds the remote on the bedside table and flicks on the TV. They watch random sports while they wait for Misha and Richard to wake up, or for visiting hours to come to an end. Whatever comes first. 

Darkness is creeping in by the time Richard blinks his eyes open, setting his gaze upon an unfamiliar ceiling. He takes a quick look around and Jared spots him moving. “Hey, welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Jared, Jensen? What's going on? Where are we?” he asks, slightly panicking. 

“It's okay, calm down,” Jensen says, eying the heart monitor as it starts to speed up.

“We're at the hospital. You and Misha were hurt very badly. Jensen and I got Misha's voicemail and came over right away. We found you guys and we found Sebastian.” Jared turns away slightly, voice breaking. 

He had blocked out thoughts of Sebastian all day, so he wouldn't lose his head in the hospital, but now everything is coming down on him and he has to take a minute to breathe through the pain and anger and sorrow. Jensen does the same, but he already had his moment when he went to the restroom. He couldn't break down in front of Jared. He has to be strong for him. He knows Jared doesn't expect him to be a rock all the time, but he can't help it sometimes.

Jensen takes over explaining. “You and Misha were in surgery for quite a while, but the doctors say you'll make a full recovery with no complications. You have stitches, so be careful.”

Richard nods, looking over at Misha. “Misha's okay, isn't he?”

“He's fine,” Jared says, smiling slightly at Richard's concern.

Just as he says that, Misha groans. “Richard? You okay?”

“I'm fine. Did you hear Jensen?” Richard asks, sitting up carefully in the bed with Jensen's help.

“Yeah,” Misha says shortly, sitting up as well. He waves off Jared's help with a thanks.

The nurse from before comes in and tells them that visiting hours are over. Jared and Jensen nod, bidding Misha and Richard goodbye as they walk out, promising to return to see them tomorrow. Jensen catches Jared's hand as they head for the exit, swinging it slightly as they walk. 

Jensen's cell phone rings, cutting into the quiet air of the night. He glances at it, the words 'Katie Walder' flashing on the screen.

“It's Katie. Shit, we didn't call her.” 

Jared winces. “Answer it.”

“Hello, Katie?” Jensen asks.

Jared takes the keys from him and unlocks the doors, gesturing for him to get in. 

“Yes, I'm so sorry, Katie.” Jared hears Jensen say as he walks to his side of the car.

“They had surgery, but they'll be okay.” Jensen says, shifting the phone to his other ear.

He listens for a bit while Jared watches him, a look of worry on his face. “Of course. We'll do anything and everything we can to help you. I'll talk to you soon. Try to get some rest. Bye.” He hangs up and drops the phone in his lap. He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face, allowing himself a moment to ache and hurt and miss his friend. Jared rubs his shoulder, fingers sliding up to curl around the side of his neck affectionately. Jensen takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah.” Jared smoothes his fingertips along the line of Jensen's shoulder and then lets his arm fall back to his side, fingers wrapping around the seatbelt buckle. 

Jensen starts the car and backs out of the parking space, shifting back into Drive as they pull out of the hospital parking lot. The ride home is quiet, each going through the events of the day in their own mind, thoughts to be shared when they got home.

“Misha?” Richard's voice breaks the heavy silence around them.

“Yeah?” Misha turns his head and looks at Richard.

“Are we okay?” Richard asks, unable to face Misha as he asks this.

Somehow Misha knows that Richard isn't talking about their physical health. He's not even really talking about their emotional health either. He's talking about their relationship and Misha isn't quite sure what to say. He wants to tell Richard that he loves him, will always love him, no matter what. The words seem hollow and brittle inside his head though, so he can only imagine how they'd sound if he spoke them out loud. He doesn't know what to say and so he doesn't say anything. Richard doesn't press for answers, knowing Misha will talk when he wants to. 

For once, he isn't doubting anything about their relationship. He knows Misha is the one, knows Misha agrees. He turns the ring on his finger over and over again, spinning round and round. He smiles at it, happy despite all they've gone through. The pain is still there, in his heart, beside the happiness, but Richard clings to the hope and the happiness the ring brings him, otherwise he doesn't know how he would cope with the knowledge of all that went down that horrible night.

He grieves the loss of Sebastian, feels it acutely, like a thin, ice cold blade sliding between his ribs to bury itself in his heart. The knowledge that he will never be able to talk to Sebastian, won't even get to look at him anymore, hurts more than the physical wounds he has. It'll be a long time before the pain even begins to ease up in the slightest, but he hangs onto it and places it beside the happiness in his heart and soul and tries to keep his sanity intact as best he can. “I love you.”

Misha smiles in the dark of the room. “I love you too.”

“Do you still want to get married?” Richard asks, a note of hesitation in his voice. 

“Yes. All that's happened has proved to me that life isn't as long as we want it to be. We don't have all the time in the world and the time we do have is never enough. I could have lost you tonight or you could have lost me. I don't want to ever live through something like this again. I can't promise you that nothing will ever happen because it can. All I can promise you is that I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however long it is.” When he's finished, there are tears sliding down his face and Misha wipes them away.

“I do too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Richard says and by his tone, Misha knows he's crying too. They both get out of bed, careful of their stitches and various wires and tubes, and meet in the middle, in between their beds. Misha presses his lips to Richard's, holding onto him as tight as he can without hurting him. This is what he wants - Richard in his arms for the rest of their days.

They grieve for who they have lost, what has happened to them, and for their lost home. There's no going back to that place now, no way either of them could bear to set foot in it, much less live there another day. Too much bloodshed and loss have happened there. It's violated beyond what anyone could ever fix.

They come together in their mutual heartache and love. They hold each other up and rest with each other when they are down.

The stars cannot fall from the sky any more than they can leave each other. It's like trying to hold water in your cupped hands. It all slides away from you until all you have left is little droplets clinging to your fingertips. 

Sometimes love really does conquer all and it does get you through the hard times in life. Sometimes it really is all you need. Someone to love with your life in their hands, holding you up to the sky and letting you fly and catching you when you fall, so that you’ll never hit the ground. 

Misha pushes his machines over to Richard's bed and climbs in with him, unwilling to even sleep in a different bed tonight. They fall asleep curled against and around each other, safe and warm.

The nurse, Rachel, comes in to check on them one last time before her shift is over, and smiles at what she sees. She slips out silently, leaving them in peace.


End file.
